Psycholike
by kitzykat
Summary: Marx, you crazy man. Why in the world would you hope to be with him?  Mal, you crazy kid. Why in the world would you be so lonely without him?    Jijinka because I wrote this for a character profile narrative in Fresh. Comp. :


"Who are you?" The man before him stared with pure intensity, nearly turning to curiosity.

"MY name is... uh, Marx. That's my name. What is yours?

"Well err, don't you know? You like... chased me for like... uh... a long time."

"Oh yeah." The two stared at each other for a fairly few moments, an unbroken silence lasting for a brief while. In these moments the two shared curious glances at one another. The man's stare was great, and penetrating; it felt as if it meant something more but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"I'm waiting for that name..." He pursed his lips, guessing it wouldn't hurt to give this stalker guy a first name. Like he would do anything with it.

"Um, my name... it's Malsan, or Mal. The man before him had a sharp intake of breath, and his expression turned shocked. Marx walked forward and rested his clenched fists on Mal's shoulders. He smiled toothily, revealing sharper than average canine teeth. Mal's hands flicked up to his head nervously, and started feeling his black, wavy hair. There wasn't much to do in this situation, now that this man had him in such a hold, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to break it. There was just something about this, Marx, he wish he could figure it out. Ever since this man started chasing him, he knew there had to be something he needed or wanted from him. If he were to really take a look at the both of them, he would even presume they looked alike. Marx had these mesmerizing eyes like pools of purple honey that stared intensely into his soul. His eyebrows stayed those same parenthetic curves, gently wavering slightly above his eyes with each blink. His shaggy black hair blocked them somewhat, as it curved to the shape of his face and fell down to the back of his head. It curled around his ears and shined in the glint of the bright sun. He had a small, button nose that ended in a slight curve, and his mouth didn't change once. Just a straight line across his face in the silence that had worked its way between the two men. Mal switched his weight back and forth on his feet, waiting for the man to say what he needed.

"I need… to tell you something, Mal." Marx's voice was full of dread. He grabbed Mal's hand that was tugging at strands of silky black hair, and held it in his palms as if trying to look into it.

"Uh… what are you doing?" Mal tried to yank his arm away for the man before him was making him feel so much more uncomfortable. Surprisingly, Marx's grip was strong, almost fierce.

"Mal, I um need to explain a certain thing. Well you see- err…" Marx seemed to be having more trouble than he originally thought. It wasn't supposed to be this hard to just tell the kid who he was. But he guessed some things never really started, or ended easy. He sighed and looked straight into Mal's eyes with the upmost determination. "You're my son…, Mal."

There was a strict pause between the two. Marx attempted sincerity, or something more like an apologetic face, as if that would fix any of it. Mal laughed a non-believing chuckle, gazing hysterically at the man. His face quickly reverted to an alerted expression and his mouth hung slightly open. The time it took Mal to process this was relatively short, and his expression never wavered at all. Mal's head figuratively plummeted through his stomach and hit the ground. He'd never been more shocked in all his life. His expression faltered and his eyebrows curved and bushed together. There was no doubt he was about to kill someone at the moment, that's how mad he felt. There's no way the man before him couldn't be his father. It only seemed logical that way. No matter how many times Mal tried to find a loophole to the current situation, he came back to the original matter; no matter how much he didn't want to believe it, his father went missing, but he never died. Come on, the man before him was practically an older clone of him! Both of Mal's hands shot up from his sides and clenched his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut as he let his emotions take control. The only thing Mal wanted to do at the moment was punch Marx. Hit him with everything he had. Make him feel the pain he had felt throughout his life. Make him hurt like he did, never having anyone to back him up or tell him it would be alright. Mal's eyes flicked open and glared razor sharp knives at the man that stood before him. Tears threatened to consume his face, to flow like waterfalls over everything he wanted to forget. To drop to the ground and wet the soft dirt, transforming it into muddy clay. Marx stared back with magenta eyes that filled with regret, staring at the sight of his own son breaking down. The teen clenched his teeth and the first tears fell, sliding gently down his cheeks. He finally stole a bit of composure, enough to be able to say one word.

"Why?" The question was blatant, but Marx knew to what he had referred.

"They told me it would be better this way, I think. I don't know if that was a dream or if I'm remembering wrong. I think it was real… eh. I just remember everyone telling me that I couldn't take care of you and that you weren't supposed to be mine."

"Who told you that? How could it of hurt to like… just see me once in a while?" Tears continued streaking down his face. The only way to talk in his state was by whining, he couldn't stop crying, he just couldn't. He'd sound like a dying frog if he did. "I mean like…. I didn't even know that… you were alive." His last words hitched in his throat as he bowed his head, not bearing to look at his dad any longer.

"Well short story short, I'm not exactly sane, and if I were to guess, neither are you…" Mal's eyes shot up and glared hatefully at him.

"You better not be calling me crazy!"

"I'm not saying you're crazy, I mean well, I just met you. It's a possibility you could be more like me than I think…" Marx paused; he didn't know whether or not he should even tell the boy the rest. "Okay so, top of the line, flipped my crap on everyone, everyone was like 'oh my gosh' and I can't really remember the rest." He lied about the last part. He could remember the rest perfectly fine, if better than a regular person could, but there are so many things you shouldn't tell someone, and what he did was most likely the first on the list. "So apparently after that, had to go to an asylum, while for you, they sent you off to a foster home."

"So um, how are you here now?"

""I flipped my crap again." He halfheartedly laughed at that part. It wasn't necessarily…. Flipping the crap… he more just took the crap and threw it across the room and called it pancakes, but being Marx, nothing he does makes sense.

"So you flipped the crap and are out of the place? So why did you err…, come to me?"

"I had to see you. I need to be with you, and I know how much not having any parents hurts." Mal sighed and twirled the locks of hair around his fingers. Tears still clouded his sight and his nose still felt as if he inhaled a hundred teaspoons of pepper. There wasn't another way to get around the situation though, no matter how much he knew he didn't, he did want to accept his father. He needed to be with him too.


End file.
